


Coulmier's Obedience

by baranduin



Category: Quills (2000)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place some time after the end of the movie. Coulmier is still kept prisoner at Charenton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coulmier's Obedience

__

  
I chastise my body and bring it into subjection. (Paul, I Corinthians, 9, 27)

  
Charenton lived for me again last night while I slept, though I am not at all certain that it was night when I lay dreaming. My cell is so dark all the time it could well have been broad daylight for all I would have known. These days I am not permitted even the narrowest sliver of a window and so it is all boarded up; I am told I become over-excited otherwise. Though I try to keep careful calculations with respect to day and night, I find it grows ever more difficult to do so. But I can state with perfect faith that I lived in Charenton again the last time I slept, and it moved for me the way it once did before the doctor brought evil there.

Oh, my darling, do not believe I have gone completely mad. I retain a vigorous enough hold on my faculties to realize that I still live at Charenton (if such a wretched mode of existence can be called living), but the dear place has changed so utterly in its demeanor since your day that I can barely recognize it.

You see, my sweet one (I may call you that now, it cannot be wrong now, can it, and if it is wrong, I am damned so far already that one more little sin cannot make a difference to the outcome), sometimes the good Lord takes pity on me, and He did last night. And then I dream, whether waking or sleeping, that the good, the kind Charenton lives again in all its peculiar and gentle glory. When that happens, I put on my black robes again and they are clean and whole, and I walk the echoing stone halls, and I am happy. There was good there once, and I was a part of it; I believe this.

* * *

He thinks that I shall kill myself with it, I know he does. But let me assure you, my innocent darling, that I would not do such an evil thing as take my own life. To commit a deed as black as that, to indulge in my dearest wish, would be a mortal sin and I am not sunk so low yet.

But the good doctor thinks that I will leap at the opportunity and then he will be rid of the last one who might speak against him. At first, in the early days of my imprisonment, I did not understand why he did not just have me killed. It would have been a simple matter to arrange, requiring nothing more arduous on his part than a raise of an eyebrow at the right person. In those first days after you left me, I expected the blow to fall at any moment of the day or night, but it did not happen and I have divined the truth of it.

He will not do it, for watching my daily suffering has become the chief pleasure of his existence. It binds us together more tightly than any hangman's noose that ever twisted jealously about an innocent man's throat.

He brought it to me himself, you know; he carried it in his arms and laid it across my lap so very gently. I smelled the leather; it was intoxicating. I suppose I should say it was very brave of him to have done so, to have bearded me in my cell, but it wasn't. He was accompanied by four men (whom I had trusted in the past, no I must not think of that, I must not) who would have pinned me to the floor with all their strength if I had so much as twitched toward Royer-Collarde.

"There," he said with bared teeth. "I'm sure you'll put that to good use."

It was cool and smooth in my hands. Oh, I have missed my scourge. I have had such need of it. My mind travels evil paths these days.

I suppose I could devise a way to use it to see myself off to Hell. No Purgatory or Heaven for the soft-hearted, dim-witted, wicked Coulmier. That hurts me to admit it, and the reason why damns me even further into the Devil's jaws. I shall never see you again. It does not matter what I do, it does not matter in what form death comes for me; I shall never see you again and I am damned for that being my greatest sorrow, for being too weak to tear the longing from my soul. So why not do it? I should have to perform some minor surgery on the strap to elongate it enough to form a noose, but I could do it. Truly, with its many thongs, it would be an easy task. I have a knife, though it is quite dull (I was lucky to capture it), and I could wait until the middle of the night and then I could cut the leather into strips and fashion something long enough to do the job. And I shall never see you again, no matter what I do. So why not put an end to Royer-Collarde's entertainment?

A sharp kick to my shin reminded me he was still there, standing over me, staring down at me with that rictus grin.

I looked up at him, benign. Once that expression came to me naturally from the hopefulness that lived in my heart; now, I can mimic it well enough when the need drives me.

He said, "Aren't you going to thank me? It took me a long time to decide that this was the right thing to do." He turned round, flapping the tails of his coat in my face, and paced back and forth. The smell of the air stirred up by his movements was not improved by his fleshly presence. "At first I did not think it was something I should do. After all, you could well do harm to yourself and I should not like that on my conscience. I do have great hopes of your recovery, my dear Coulmier, I do, I pray for it every night."

"Do you?" I cultivated my most foolish expression, mouth slack.

"Of course, my friend. You priests do not hold the patent on praying for poor, benighted souls. Ah!" He stopped his pacing and stood in the middle of the cell, his hands on his hips, long stained teeth in full view. "A good reminder to return to my topic. As I was saying, Coulmier … of course I no longer call you Abbé, it would not be fitting and I'm sure you understand that … at first it seemed to me that to bring you your scourge would be an ill-conceived act, but on further consideration I have realized it is but a cruelty to deny you its consolations. Though we can no longer in good conscience call you Abbé, nevertheless I know in your heart you still consider yourself a priest and will cherish receiving one of the tools of your trade. It is true I am a stern man, but I am not completely without mercy. Use it well. What do you say?" He stood before me, rocking back and forth on his heels. From my crouching vantage point on the floor, I could see that they were a little ground down, and that pleased me.

I may not have the talent of appearing calm and tranquil when my emotions are seething inside my breast, but I may say with not a little pride (I glory in all my sins now) that several years as Charenton's administrator taught me more than a few wiles. Therefore I remained still and used my emotions to my advantage. I looked at him with my eyes swimming with tears, and I laughed inside.

"Ah. You always were an emotional creature," he said, bending down and peering closely at my face, no doubt wanting to wring the last drop of pleasure from my apparent distress. "I hope you do not take it amiss if I suggest that it was precisely your extravagant emotions – so ill-advised in a priest – that were your downfall, my friend."

I sprang at him like a rabid dog, my teeth bared and no doubt slavering to get a purchase in his throat. Such fierce emotion, unrestrained by perfect faith in God's mercy, makes wild beasts of us all.

* * *

 

It was worth the blows and kicks, just to see the fear bloom red and mottled on his face. For a moment, though, I thought he would take it away from me and that made me sad, but he did not. He used it on me, that is wherever he could reach me once I'd curled into a tight ball and left as little exposed as possible.

I did not beg for his mercy, my darling; you would have been proud of me. I did not beg and would not have, even if I thought he knew the meaning of the word. Before leaving the cell, he threw the whip at me and spat at me. The warm spittle landed on my ear and slid down my neck like a slug's trail. It was disgusting.

But he is gone now and everything is quiet. A quiet night at the lunatic asylum, quite a rare thing. The moon must not be full.

I have decided that I must not use my scourge often now that it has been returned to me. Oh, I am tempted, I am sorely tempted to stripe my flesh to the bone but that is only wishful thinking and I have not completely lost my discipline. In the past, I usually used my scourge as prescribed by my order, rarely exceeding the boundaries set out (except that one time, just once, and I would have torn myself from limb to limb if I could have that night), regularly but infrequently, and that is what I shall do now.

Do you remember the time you caught me in the infirmary, Madeleine? I was a little overzealous the night before and the blood flowed too freely, so I went to the infirmary to find bandages to wind about my back and you caught me at it.

"Abbé?" you said and I jumped and you laughed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you unwell?"

"I am very well, Maddy," I said though I held a bundle of clean bandages and a little pot of salve in my hand.

"Is someone injured then? Who is it?"

I looked into your eyes and I could not lie. Of course, I am not a liar anyway, as much from innate inability as well as vocation, so I shrugged and hoped that you would understand that the bandages were indeed for me and that I did not wish to discuss the matter. Well, you understood the first, I can say that. As for the second …but then you were always headstrong. It is part of your charm.

"It is you," you said and came close to me. "Whatever have you done to yourself?"

You could always reduce me to a stupefied schoolboy. I stammered out something about my order and the prescribed mortification of the flesh and how I'd been a little overeager and then I shut up, blushed like a maiden and stared at you.

Your face was such a marvel of contradictions that I burst into laughter. That brought you round to your usual self.

"You're laughing? I should think I'd be the one laughing," you said.

"Your face … if you could see your face …" I bit my lip to quiet myself and tried to look stern. "Maddy, it is a normal thing."

"Normal." Your mouth twitched and then you grabbed the bandages from me before I could stop you. "Come on, then. I'll be your nurse."

"Maddy, no!"

"Ssshhh ... would you prefer one of the nuns to see your mortified flesh?" You said "mortified flesh" with more gusto than was seemly.

Before I could say anything further, you were off and had me following you at a quick march through the halls, headed for my room. Once there, you threw the door open and waved me in, your mouth curved up in a saucy smile.

"Come on!" you said when I showed no sign of compliance. "Let's have a look at you. I haven't got all day, you know." You raised your chin. "The Marquis has need of my services."

"And I have been meaning to discuss that with you. I should like it better if you spent more time in confession or at your mending or ..."

You pulled me inside the room and shut the door before anyone could see we were alone together in my private room. "You'd like it better if I spent my time anywhere but in the good Marquis' company. Isn't that what you really mean?"

I was insufferably prim then, wasn't I? "It is for your soul's own good that I say these things. I have your soul in my keeping. It is a trust."

"I know that very well, my friend," you said softly. "Come on. Time's still wasting and I've a pile of dirty sheets to get through today."

You did wind me around your finger in those days. (You still do though in a different way that I cannot quite comprehend.)

I sat on the plain wooden chair that formed one of three pieces of furniture in my room – my bed, the chair, and a plain prie-dieux at which I knelt for my private devotions. I sat with my back to you and quickly pulled cassock and shirt away from my shoulders and back until they billowed about my waist. I was grateful for the coverage, and you must have known it though you were kind enough not to make mention of it.

You gasped when you saw my back. It made me smile though I hid it from you. My sweet darling, it thrilled me to know it disturbed you to see my wounds.

"You did this to yourself? How?"

"It is quite easy." I nodded toward the instrument of my livid stripes. It hung quietly on a hook in a dark corner in the room.

You went right to it and took it in your hands to examine it. You ran your hands over the tied thongs, balanced the handle in your hand to get a measure of its heft. You swung it once and when it cracked in the air you shuddered and hung it back up.

There was a strange expression on your face when you returned to me and sat on the bed and started cleaning my back with gentle hands. When you stayed silent, it disturbed me and that sense of perturbation grew on me until I finally broke our silence. "Say something," I said. "Please ... say something."

You stilled the movement of your hands across my back and set them on my shoulders. I felt each one of your fingers pressing into my flesh. You said, "I do not know what to say, Abbé. Truly I do not. What can you have possibly done to warrant doing such violence to yourself?"

I tried to explain but you would have none of it.

"And you say the Marquis is vile in his thoughts and deeds. I don't see it. Not in comparison. You are a good man, there is no reason for this."

You said your piece and then, quite unlike you, you shut your mouth. Your hand moved more quickly across my back though as gently as before, but you said nothing more to me. When I tried to explain more about the meaning of regular scourging, you sighed and squeezed my hand.

I was terribly afraid that I'd lessened myself in your eyes, but you forgave me though not that day. No, that day you left me buttoning up my shirt. You turned back round in the doorway to look at me with your mouth pressed in a tight line.

"I hope your holy vows will allow you to recover from your ... what are they?" Even in the dim light I saw your face flush. You were angry with me. "Are they wounds? Is that what they are? I don't know what to call them."

I believe I told you that I regarded my marks as a sign of my obedience to God. I was full of the most dreadful nonsense in those days, wasn't I, my darling?

* * *

 

I should have my Bible open before me to say the appropriate verses, to have them accompany my devotions. But I don't have a Bible, they have taken all that away from me, so I shall have to remember them in my heart.

_Crack ..._

Oh, Madeleine.


End file.
